


Wait For Me

by Defira



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Femslash February
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 01:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defira/pseuds/Defira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lenia Cousland and Anora Mac Tir have been the very best of friends since they were young, but as adulthood and responsibility begin to creep in, Lenia has to come to terms with the fact that her adoration for Anora is distinctly less platonic than she had first thought.</p>
<p>Written for Femslash February on Tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wait For Me

It had started innocently enough- two young girls of similar rank and age, it was only natural that little Lenia Cousland and Anora Mac Tir would find themselves constant playmates throughout their childhood. It became a regular sight, Lenia’s darker head of hair resting beside Anora’s pale golden tresses, giggling quietly to one another at some private joke. 

They were utterly inseparable, and the distance between Highever and Gwaren only seemed to encourage their determination to adore one another. Lengthy missives flew between the two cities- Anora learned her letters earlier than Lenia, but Eleanor patiently sat with her daughter and wrote out the rambling adventures that Lenia dictated to her. 

_Dearest Anora_ , they would read, _I miss you ever so! Fergus is nowhere near as fun as you are._

Lenia kept every letter sent to her over the years, bundled together with a pale yellow ribbon that reminded her of Anora’s hair. And every day, she pestered her parents for news, counting each day wistfully until they could be reunited again. 

When she was four, they played in the mud and ran around in the woods near Highever and Gwaren, proclaiming for all to hear that they were the great Lady Rowan and Lady Cousland, fighting off the Orlesians hordes during the Rebellion. They fenced with sticks, and built mud castles, and got so thoroughly filthy that their mothers despaired at ever having their daughters clean again. 

Lenia made even more of a mess with the bubbles and foam, and the two of them ran shrieking and naked through the hallways, covered in soap, until their beleaguered nannies managed to snatch them up again.

_Dearest Anora_ , her letters would say, _I had ever so much fun with you last month in Gwaren. Are you coming to Highever soon? I dearly hope so!_

When she was eight, they sat and giggled at state dinners, their fancy dresses covering scabbed knees and an untameable sense of adventure. Lenia had sprouted already, all gangly elbows and coltish legs that seemed determined to trip her at every opportunity, and was several inches taller than her dearest friend. That did not seem to hinder their adoration for one another, nor did it seem to curb their mischief. If anything, it just made it easier for them to find their way into even more outrageous situations. 

Eleanor declared that her grey hair was almost entirely due to her rascal of a daughter. 

_Dearest Anora_ , she would write, _wasn’t that last dinner in Denerim just smashing? I told Nan I only wanted to eat bread and butter pudding from now on, but she makes me eat my greens first. Blegh!_

When she was twelve, they giggled and joked that Anora would marry Fergus, so that they could be sisters, legs entwined beneath the sheets at their sleepovers.

“I would never let a man come between us, Nora,” Lenia would say, snuggling into her. “Besides, Cailan likes you. You would be very good together.”

“He likes you too, Nia,” Anora corrected, and the two of them giggled. 

“But we can’t _both_ marry him- maybe we should just marry each other!”

“But then who would be Queen?" said Anora, wrinkling her nose. "What if Cailan married that _dreadful_ Habren?” 

“We could hide in the Brecilian wilds, like your father used to. We could be pirates!”

“Pirates don’t live in forests, Nia, don’t be silly.”

She was right- pirates didn’t live in forests, and little girls’ dreams had to be left in childhood. When Celia Mac Tir passed away, the opportunities for the two girls to visit one another withered away, and the looming responsibilities of adulthood began to creep in. 

There were still letters, of course, and Lenia kept each and every one, tucked carefully away in the bundle with the pale golden ribbon. The older ones were frail, the paper crackling whenever she opened them to reread them, but she treasured them all. Some of them she knew by rote. 

_Dearest Anora_ , she wrote, drafting a half dozen letters to try and find the words she wanted to say. There were a hundred torn up missives in the fireplace before she simply wrote _I miss you- do you miss me?_

When she was sixteen, she left Ferelden- partially at her parent’s behest, and partially at the growing knowledge that Anora would one day marry Cailan, and she hated the young prince for that. What had been a delightful jest in childhood was now a wretched truth, and with it came the burgeoning knowledge that perhaps her young affection for Anora had not been the love for a sister, but the love for a woman. 

Anora was going to be queen; it was simply a fact. And it would cause nothing but gossip and hate, undermining the authority of the crown, if it was known by all that the Teyrn of Highever’s daughter held a candle for the queen. 

So she went to Antiva instead, welcomed into the home of her sister-in-law, and she let her hair grow out and her skin grow brown. She learned to fight, and she learned to dance in a most scandalous fashion, and she found she enjoyed the company of other young women in her bed. 

She learned that there was a life to be lived, and it was better to forget some loves. 

And they still wrote one another, and Lenia’s ever present bundle of letters slowly grew, but there were months of silence between them now. Somehow she felt her life to be too frivolous for her friend, her dear love, and there were things she was ashamed to commit to paper. How would Anora feel about her, knowing how many evenings she wasted in song and wine, how many women she had taken to her bed and whose names she could no longer remember? 

_Dearest Anora,_ she would write, _you would not believe it, but last night I very nearly broke my leg when I tumbled from atop a table. As to how I came to be upon the table in the first place, perhaps the details are not necessary (a woman has her pride, after all), but needless to say it involved copious amounts of Antivan brandy, and a dare regarding my propensity towards dance. How goes the winter in Ferelden? I hope the crops are proving hardy._

Those ones inevitable ended up in the fire, because she could not imagine a more pathetically frivolous life than the one she was leading. Anora was to be queen, a lady of the land, and she had far more important things to do than to read about the disreputable adventures of her wayward childhood friend. 

When she was twenty, she returned from Antiva to mourn the death of good King Maric, and the expected had occurred- Anora wore a betrothal ring on her hand, and the country was reeling from grief to celebration. For Lenia, stepping onto the docks at Denerim to be greeted by the news she had dared to hope would never eventuate, she felt as if she were coming home for her own funeral. 

Her heart died that day, and each day after when she saw Anora- radiant and demure- on Cailan’s arm. They were reserved in their affection for one another, doing their best to remain respectful whilst mourning the king, but Lenia couldn’t help but notice every glance they shared, every time their hands brushed together, every time their heads were bent together in some private, intimate moment. 

How could you greet a friend, after years of near silence, after a thousand days of carefully pulling away from the grip they held on your heart? 

Lenia felt hollow and false when she embraced Anora, because she wanted to bury her face in the curve of her neck, she wanted to cling to her and relish every single place that their bodies touched. She wanted to breathe her in, imprint the very scent of her on her soul, so that she would never forget her again. 

So she hugged her quickly, gritting her teeth, and she smiled weakly, not quite making eye contact, and she filled the time with shallow courtesies and observations about the weather. Anora did not bat an eyelid at her odd behaviour, and Lenia felt part of her shrivel and die when she realised that Anora probably did not even know her enough to consider her behaviour odd anymore. 

They were strangers, acquaintances, and Lenia was a fool with a dream, clinging desperately to a bundle of old letters and a faded gold ribbon in the quiet of her room. 

She stood as a handmaiden at their wedding, a fitting place for a Teyrn’s daughter, and wept alone that night. 

The next morning, she sailed back to Antiva. 

She did not return until the rumblings of war reached her.

_____________________

_Denerim Palace, Ferelden  
Eighteen months into the Fifth Blight_

The door swung closed behind her with an ominous boom, the click of the lock somehow telling; as if it was a grand proclamation to any who might be eavesdropping. 

She swallowed nervously, clasping her hands together before her so that she did not fidget. “Your Majesty,” she began, bowing slightly, but she did not get any further. 

The queen’s regal facade broke, the flicker of loss and fear and overpowering relief she had seen back at Howe’s mansion coming in to consume her features; Anora crossed the room between one heartbeat and the next, hands coming up to cradle Lenia’s face and her mouth covering hers an instant later. 

Lenia’s hands went immediately to Anora’s hips, and it was like coming home. The grief of the last year, losing her home and her family and her comrades- it wasn’t gone, it’d never be gone, but for a moment the pain of it all dulled in the face of the overwhelming joyful relief that surged through her. Anora, her Nora, her beautiful dear love, who had run through the woods with her and giggled over supper with her and to whom she had composed a thousand letters proclaiming her love- Anora was here, in her arms, and she was kissing her with all the longing that Lenia had buried and ignored for so long. So she kissed her back with all that pent up fear and desperation, arms clinging tight around her until she began to wonder if they’d drop off.

When they broke away to breathe, Lenia rested her forehead against Anora’s, her eyes pressed tight shut in the vain hope it’d stop the tears she could feel burning. “I missed you,” she whispered hoarsely.

Anora’s fingers seemed determined not to stay still. “I grieved for you so many times,” she said, her voice broken. “I thought I had lost you, that I-”

“I did not realise my survival meant so much to you,” Lenia said, her tone bitter despite the joy of the moment. “I would have come to Denerim sooner, had I known.”

“You meant the _world_ to me, Nia,” she said, her fingers digging into her shoulders, curling around the collar of her worn and filthy armour to anchor her in place. It was amusing and terrifying, the ferocity of her grip; she could not honestly say that anyone had ever held her so fiercely. “I have mourned you every day since you _left_ , not just this past year. I mourned every day that passed where I did not hear from you.”

Lenia felt her stomach lurch. “Nora, I-”

“I thought I had lost you at Highever, when Howe showed his hand, and I was ecstatic to learn that you had survived as a Warden,” she continued, her voice angry and desperate. “And then, when I thought I had lost you and Cailan both at Ostagar, and I had to go on knowing I would not see either of you again...”

“Nora-”

“Do you know the joy I felt, knowing you were the Warden who had lived? Do you know how I had to conceal my desperate relief when I learned you were alive, lest it be taken by my enemies as satisfaction at the death of my husband?”

Guilt twisted in her stomach like a knife. “Nora, I’m _sorry_ ,” she said miserably, swallowing uncomfortably to try and keep the sob from breaking past her lips. She could feel the tears on her cheeks, and knew she was losing the battle. “What would you have me say? I have known nothing but loss and grief for so long; was it so very wrong of me to assume I would face no better here in-”

“ _Face no better?_ ” Anora said angrily, the cold fire in her making it very evident how she had ruled so easily these past few years. “You think so poorly of me that you expect me to turn you away after the death of your family- when they were nothing but loving and supportive of me, your mother treating me like one of her own after my own mother died?”

“But you married Cailan!” Lenia blurted out, unable to stop it from sounding like an accusation.

Anora drew back from her as if she had slapped her. “Because I _loved_ him, just as I love Ferelden!” she snapped, her expression so frosty that Lenia couldn’t help but cringe back against the door. “How _dare_ you cheapen my confession of grief with your jealousy? Would you have me admit to never having loved him, just to soothe your pride?”

“I didn’t- I’m... I’m sorry, I’m sorry Anora,” she said, tripping over her tongue and trying desperately to stop from crying, even as the tears continued to slip down her cheeks. “What would you have me say? I have known no comfort, no support, for so long now, and I thought-”

“You thought what? You thought my years of friendship and love would be so easily forgotten? That my loyalties would be so fickle?”

“I...” She swallowed nervously, the taste of Anora still on her lips. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

Something in Anora’s eyes softened, and the anger gave way to weariness. “Nor I,” she admitted quietly. “This is not a position I ever envisioned myself in.”

Lenia couldn’t help herself, despite the poor timing. “Well, ideally, since I’m taller, it would be better if I held you against the door,” she said, delighted at the way Anora flushed a deep scarlet. 

“Well, that is... I mean to say, that is not something I have any experience with, so I would have to take your word for it,” she stammered, attempting to maintain a dignified presence despite her embarrassment. Lenia thought her blush was possibly the most adorable thing she had ever seen. 

“I have a _great deal_ of experience in the matter,” she said, her smile somewhat soggy; she reached up quickly and smeared away the tears with the back of her hand, sniffling in a rather undignified manner. “But I have to say I’m rather appalled at my lack of tact- although in my defense, I’ve never tried to woo a queen after rescuing her from mortal peril.”

Anora’s expression turned shy, but the look in her eyes was enough to have Lenia’s pulse quickening. “Well, I could possibly add that, as a queen who was recently rescued from mortal peril, I find your attempts at wooing to be rather... charming.”

“I...” Lenia stared at her, caught somewhere between blissful ecstasy and aching misery. “I had thought that my affections were one-sided.”

Anora was quiet for a moment, her fingers gentle as she stroked her cheek. “Is that why you left?” she asked softly. 

“In part. It was easier to not be here.”

“And the letters?”

Lenia could feel misery winning. “I couldn’t bring myself to believe that you would have any interest in my wayward lifestyle. I... I needed to forget you, and I couldn’t do that if I was writing you every other week.”

Anora examined her closely, and Lenia had to resist the urge to squirm under her gaze. “You needed to forget me?” she asked carefully.

“I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t bear it, I felt like a fool because-”

“Because what?”

Lenia swallowed down the shouted proclamation that fought to get out of her. “Because... I would have done anything for you, and the last thing you needed was gossip undermining your marriage.”

“Would you have come home years ago, if I had asked?”

She took a shuddering breath. “In a heartbeat,” she said miserably. It did not feel like the grand admission of love she had imagined; it felt like a terrible secret, one that had festered and eaten at her for far too long. 

“Well,” Anora said slowly, “I suppose I probably should have asked, then.”

“Don’t joke about that,” Lenia said, “not when we both know it would have meant standing silently to the side and watching you go on without me.”

“It might not have,” Anora said, her gaze dropping away. “You need not assume the worst of me, Nia.”

Hearing her childhood nickname on her lips was more than Lenia could bear. She surged off from the door, grasping Anora tightly and leaning down to kiss her with all the fierce longing she had withheld the first time. And Anora kissed her back, just as desperately, just as passionately, and Lenia felt her heart soar.

“Anora, I love you,” she said, pressing kisses to her mouth, her nose, her cheeks, her forehead- anywhere she could reach. “I’ve loved you ever since I had the words for what I felt for you. And I will follow you wherever you lead me- just tell me what it is you would have of me, and I’ll see it done.”

“You already know what I would ask-”

“Your father.”

“He is a good man, Nia,” Anora said, somewhat breathless from the kisses. “I do not deny that he has done some terrible things these last few months, but he deserves a chance to redeem himself.”

Lenia closed her eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“I always have,” Anora answered instantly. 

With such an endorsement ringing in her ears, Lenia felt certain she could take on the Archdemon one handed. “Then you’ll have to trust me.”

_____________________

_Denerim Palace, Ferelden  
The Landsmeet_

“You have a decision to make, Warden,” Arl Eamon said with a growl, his face already red with unvoiced frustrations. Lenia didn’t give a fuck about his unvoiced frustrations- Eamon had known her almost since the day she’d been born, and yet not once in the last few months had he treated her as anything more than a tool in his poorly plotted quest for more power. 

If he’d been inclined at any point to use her actual name, and to acknowledge her for who she was- his kinswoman, possibly the only surviving Cousland, which potentially made her the Teyrna _and_ his political superior- rather than as just another pawn in some poorly timed chess game, then perhaps she would have been more inclined to indulge him. 

As it was, she had no time for a man who considered her so far below him he wouldn’t even address her correctly. 

“I’ve already made a decision,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. She was still winded from the duel with Loghain, her arms aching all the way to her shoulders from weathering blow after blow. She’d never considered herself an outstanding swordswoman, but she did feel a small niggling sense of pride at having stood against the great Loghain Mac Tir for a good forty five minutes. “I have simply not voiced it aloud.”

“Let’s have it then,” he said impatiently, all but tapping his foot to convey his annoyance. 

His condescending tone further cemented her determination. “The Teyrn of Gwaren will live,” she said loudly, her back to the room, and she didn’t need to be watching to feel the immediate change in the air, the way the tension at her back shot up and the hisses and boos began. She was half surprised she did not feel a dagger in her back. “His death does nothing to serve the people of Ferelden.”

“And what of our fallen brothers, Lenia?” Alistair snapped, coming up beside her and grabbing her arm. “What of the justice that needs to be served?”

She pulled her arm out of his grip, trying to keep her temper; she had known Alistair would disapprove of her choice, but she’d desperately hoped he wouldn’t choose to challenge her so publicly. “You would throw resources at the dead to assuage your guilt, when the living need it far more desperately.”

“Oh, that’s easy enough for you to say, when you’ve already had your revenge-”

She slapped him, _hard_ , tears already burning in her eyes as the occupants in the hall gasped at the confrontation. “How _dare_ you,” she whispered, voice shaking, unable to look him in the eye. “I respect the fact that you are grieving, Alistair, but how _dare_ you cheapen my own losses.”

For a moment, silence hung over the great hall, ugly and awkward, and then the whispers began again. Lenia could not bear to look back at the assembled crowd, and Alistair practically radiated with the force of his anger beside her. 

So she looked at the floor instead, trying to wipe the tears away as discreetly as possible with a whole kingdom judging her. “The Teyrn of Gwaren will live, and will attempt the Joining,” she continued, voice unsteady. “Presuming he survives, he will join the fight to save Ferelden from the darkspawn- he owes the people of Ferelden that much.”

There was some unhappy grumbling throughout the room, but for the most part nobody voiced a challenge. That was somewhat of an achievement. 

“And what of the crown?” Eamon said, his voice implying very heavily exactly what he expected Lenia to do to redeem herself. 

Her hands were shaking, and she clenched them at her side, straightening defiantly and turning to face the crowd. She nearly wilted under the face of such scrutiny, but she held firm. “The throne belongs to one person, and one person alone,” she said, lifting her voice to the rafters. “Someone who has weathered the trials and tribulations of leadership, someone who has proven their ability to stand strong in a political forum.”

Somewhere behind her, she heard Eamon say “ _No_ ,” and the horror with which he spoke it gave her a perverse sense of glee. 

“Anora shall remain upon the throne,” she said, and the applause broke out before she could summon the courage to finish the sentence.

_And I shall rule beside her, if she will have me._

_____________________

_Denerim Palace, Ferelden  
Later that night_

The celebrations were somewhat subdued, all things considered; Alistair had stormed off in the company of Eamon, and she’d yet to see either of them since the Landsmeet. Loghain had attempted- and survived- the Joining, but had declined their offer to sit with them in the evening. Her gathering of companions did their best to shore up her mood, but it was inevitable that she’d be melancholy. The fact remained that her greatest enemy still lay before her, and while she’d taken one more step in the correct direction, the perils of the Landsmeet paled into insignificance in the face of what was coming. 

She still had an Archdemon to kill, and no way of knowing how to go about it. 

By the door, someone cleared their throat to announce themselves, and everyone turned to see Anora standing hesitantly inside the edge of the room. She folded her hands carefully before her, her movements measured and regal. “I apologise for the interruption in the midst of your celebrations, but I wondered if I might have a word with the Lady Cousland?”

Lenia couldn’t help it- she blushed immediately, and Leliana leapt at the chance. “Oh, your Majesty, it is our pleasure to assist you in any way possible,” she gushed, winking brazenly at Lenia as she stood up, arm in arm with Zevran. “By all means, please take as much of Lady Cousland’s _time_ as you need to be satisfied.”

“ _Leliana!_ ” she hissed, mortified, but the others only laughed, and Anora at least looked amused rather than insulted. 

“So very kind of you, Sister,” Anora said dryly, standing to the side to allow the group to pass. 

The door latched quietly behind them, and it sounded a great deal more gentle than the one the day before. They had a private moment now, one that had nothing to do with political schemes and bargaining and everything to do with taking in the radiance and the joy of the woman before her. 

“We march south in the morning to face the horde,” she said, still somewhat tongue tied after Leliana’s gentle teasing. “Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime, your Majesty?”

Anora’s cheeks were still coloured with a gentle blush, but the look in her eyes was coy as she approached her. “I’m sure I’ll think of something,” she said pointedly, coming in close enough to let her fingers run gently up the seams at the front of her doublet; Lenia shivered, surprised and delighted at the touch. “Your companions certainly seemed to think we would have no trouble entertaining ourselves.”

Lenia’s blush deepened. “I, ah- pay them no heed, they’re just-”

“Remarkably perceptive? Yes, I’d noticed that.” 

She sighed, ducking her head; it didn’t do much good, of course, Anora was several inches shorter than her, and if anything it just gave her a better angle. “I’d... I’d meant to ask- to say something, rather, at the Landsmeet, but I wasn’t...” She trailed off, the words choking her, but Anora didn’t tease. She stood patiently, fingers resting on her lapels, waiting for the response. “I wasn’t bold enough,” she said finally, and it was mostly the truth. It didn’t quite convey the vast terror she felt at voicing the question aloud, or even attempting to. 

Anora leaned up and kissed her, soft and gentle. “I don’t want to be a widow twice over,” she whispered. “Come home to me?” 

Lenia kissed her then, pulling her as tightly against her as she dared, clinging to her desperately. She hadn’t dared allowed herself to hope, after so many months of death and misery and grief and pain; she hadn’t wanted to believe that there was something in sight for her that wasn’t just another scar against her soul.

But the woman she loved, the woman she had always loved, was holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world, and that made the death that crept in her veins seem more surmountable. 

“Wait for me, please?” she breathed between kisses. 

She felt Anora smile against her lips. “I’ve waited this long,” she murmured with a chuckle. “I don’t think a few more weeks will be a problem.”


End file.
